Hidden Morning Sung from Hiding

If house finches weren’t common,
If they didn’t crowd feeders
In mobs that exclude the rare

Birds that suburban gardeners
Find more exciting to see,
If they weren’t so drably named,

You would find them magical,
The cranberry-headed males,
The trim shapes, shadows, flutters,

And, above all, the singing,
Which if you only heard it,
With no name, could break your heart.